Beneath a Blood Moon (2 page)

I, Sara Madison, hadn’t existed until three years ago when I had chosen to become another statistic, a good girl turned bad, nothing more than a runaway lost to the night. Who I had been was as dead as any corpse, suiting the urn waiting for me on my coffee table.

Shivering, I pulled down a gauzy gown from the rack. It shimmered under the light, leaving skin and lingerie a mystery while revealing enough to entice most. I could dance without doing more than letting it fall open to swirl around my legs and accomplish as much for my audience as stripping entirely. Over the course of my shift, I would reveal more and more. When I finished my dance, I’d deny them that last glimpse of skin they so desired.

It’d likely leave my boss angry if he was watching from the second story balcony suite, but I didn’t care. If he fired me, my night’s earnings would get me a bus ticket somewhere—maybe. I sighed, changed into my best lingerie, and slipped into the gown.

A tentative touch at my elbow drew me from my thoughts. One of the new girls stared at me. She had a pretty enough face with the pasty complexion and dull-eyed gaze of someone who had taken a few too many shots of some needle. Swallowing, she glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “Does it ever stop?”

I took in all of the girls, most of them subdued and quiet, leaving me to wonder what had happened before I had arrived. It was one of the smartest questions I had heard from a new girl.

There were so many things that could have happened at the club. Had the boss sent one of the new girls home with a client? Had another drunk causing trouble and assaulting one of the girls? A hundred and one different things could have happened before my arrival. So long as we stayed our course, nothing would stop and nothing would change. I would remain a ghost living off the table scraps of the wealthy club owners of Vegas. With luck, so would the other girls.

The alternative was far worse—and far more likely to happen. The girl would probably be sold to someone looking to drown their misery in sex and drugs.

“No,” I answered, surprising myself with my honesty. “It never stops.”

Even if my ashes one day filled the urn on my coffee table, someone else would take my place at the club. The neon lights would keep on shining, with or without me. I headed for the stage to lose myself in the dance.

For a weeknight, the club was busy, which gave me some hope of having a better than normal month. Determined to forget about the trouble waiting for me at home, I asked the DJ to play something with beat and spice so I could dance flamenco with the pole.

For a little while, I’d forget. I’d forget I put myself on display most nights as a sexual commodity for the chance to go to school and make a real future for myself. If I wanted to be able to afford any classes at all next semester, I needed to dance so well I turned every head in the club.

To do that, I needed someone to dance for.

A sensual woman didn’t sigh or sulk on stage, so I lifted my chin, dredged up the remnants of my pride, and searched the crowds for a man worth watching, one who made my blood burn in my veins and tempted me into reconsidering my stance against love or lust at first sight.

Maybe there were a lot of men gambling on the floor, but as always, they were all too
something
for my liking; some were too tall, some were too dark, some were too light, some were bodybuilders and their too apparent strength worried me. Some of the men simply gave me a bad feeling, and I turned my attention away from them before they noticed my gaze on them.

A flash of yellow from the front row gambling tables drew my eye. At first I thought it was the glimmer of gold from a tie clip or a watch. When I couldn’t find the source of the color, I made the mistake of meeting the stare of one of the men.

His amber eyes bore into me, and the only thing that kept me dancing was momentum. My body remembered what to do while my mind went blank. There was something about him, something that was right in all of the ways the other men were wrong; he was tall enough, I could tell by the way he slouched at the gambling table so he wouldn’t tower over the man seated beside him. He was dark, but not in the beach boy way; a little bit of olive and a little bit of bronze spoke of some European descent—Italian, if my guess was right.

There was something nice about his mouth; he didn’t smile, but I had the feeling if he did, I’d be in real trouble. If he smiled for me, would his eyes brighten and burn even hotter?

I wanted to find out, and I didn’t even know why.

There were better looking men on the floor, including the man seated beside him. I forced my eyes away as I swirled around my pole, sending the hem of the gauzy, shimmering gown flaring out around me. I stole another glance.

The man with the bright amber eyes listened to his companion, who frowned ever so slightly. There was something odd about both of them, as though they both smoldered and were on the edge of bursting into flame. The other clients gave them both a wide berth, perhaps afraid of being burned.

When I caught the man with the amber eyes watching me, I smiled and danced for him.

The amber-eyed man and his companion gambled the night away, but through it all, neither smiled. Something bothered them, something their tumblers of whiskey couldn’t make them forget. They brooded, and my recognition of it both bothered and delighted me.

I didn’t care so much about his brown-eyed friend; I wanted to make the man I had chosen to dance for smile. He was like a stone, and if only I could crack through his sullen exterior, I’d find something interesting beneath. Would he be some shining gemstone, or would he be a precious metal, strong yet beautiful?

I wanted to know.

He didn’t smile for me by my last dance, and flustered, frustrated, and disappointed, I retreated to the dressing room to prepare for my next gig down the strip. The new girls stared at me as I changed into my sequins and feathers for my showgirl gig.

“Are you supposed to do that?” one of them demanded, scowling at me.

Startled from my thoughts, I stared at her in confusion, wondering what she was talking about. Then I realized she meant my clothes and not my fixation on the amber-eyed man from the crowd. I flushed.

“If you don’t like it, take it up with the boss, sweetheart,” I replied, and because I’d seen what jealousy caused time and time again, I locked my things in the locker I shared with Danny. When the other woman came on shift, she’d see my things and take the hint to protect her things. I shook my head. The new girls had no idea what they were getting themselves into working for the club’s boss—and no idea why it was a bad idea to alienate the regulars.

They’d learn soon enough.

At least I had some guarantee I wouldn’t be going home with a man of the boss’s choosing. I had made it clear when I had been hired; if I didn’t approve of the man, I wouldn’t leave the club with him.

In a way, it surprised me the boss had agreed—and had kept his word so far.

I think it helped, in the rare times I did need the money, I wasn’t above discreetly telling the boss between acts who I’d consider going home with. If the amber-eyed man had been alone, I would’ve left the boss a note. If I didn’t have a gig preventing me from heading home—to his, preferably—I might’ve made the effort to catch him.

Muttering curses at myself, I finished putting on my makeup for my next gig, double-checked I had locked all of my things away, and left. It was fully dark, but the lights of the hotels and casinos on Las Vegas Boulevard illuminated my path. The evening was cool for Vegas, bringing the tourists out in droves. With the surge of the transient population came the locals dressed in costumes hunting a quick buck from those easily manipulated.

Still annoyed and frustrated with my failure to make the amber-eyed man smile even a little, I abandoned my plan to try to make a few extra bucks by posing with tourists.

“Excuse me, Miss. Could I bother you for a photo?” The man’s velvet smooth tenor coupled with a light touch at my elbow brought me to a halt. Startled, I turned.

The amber-eyed man’s friend offered a faint smile, holding a cell phone in one hand. Behind him, the one I had danced for rubbed his temples, sighed, and to my amazement, his cheeks darkened in a blush.

“Sure, of course,” I murmured, smiling back. Once again, I found myself sneaking peeks, wishing I had Isabella’s straight-forward courage and promiscuous nature. She would, without a doubt, sleep with both of them without a second thought. “With your friend as well?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

There was an art in grabbing a passerby to take a photo, and using my best smile as a weapon, I picked out a pair of women who lagged behind those eager to reach their next destination. After a brief explanation and agreeing to have a picture taken with them as well, I joined the two men.

I delighted in the way the man I had danced for shuffled with nervous energy, as though he wanted to get close for the photograph but didn’t quite dare. Determined to make use of my last chance to work a smile out of him, I took his hand, guided it around my back, and stepped to his side. So his friend didn’t feel left out, I pulled him to me as well, though he needed little encouragement to join us.

The women I had recruited laughed.

“Smile, boys. There aren’t many showgirls so pretty, and you’ll be glad you got a pic with one of the best in town. You’ll see.” Winking at me, the woman lifted the phone to take a picture.

Both men looked startled, and I wiggled my feathers, bumping my hips against them in turn. “Smile real nice and I’ll have them take individual photos. I’ll let you get shots of the feathers in their full glory.”

The amber eyes I so liked widened, and he cracked a little, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “You have very nice… feathers.” The subtle pause and the way he hesitated, his cheeks darkening further, drew a laugh out of me. His voice was a little deeper than his friend’s, and there was something sultry about the way he spoke.

I had no doubts he’d been admiring something other than my costume’s feathers, but I didn’t mind in the slightest. His embarrassment charmed me almost as much as the warmth of his hand on my side, which was a perfect match for the heat in his amber eyes.

It surprised me when I was disappointed he didn’t ask for my company. I was too much of a coward to ask him to either come to the show or meet me somewhere later. I cursed myself all the way to my gig, wondering why I had let him affect me so much.

I had wanted a man to dance for, not one to lust after. At least I was safe from loving him.

Love at first sight only happened in fairy tales. I’d been around Vegas long enough to know that. Lust, at least, didn’t last for long. After a cold shower, I’d come back to my senses.

All it took was a single glance at a street vendor weaving palm frond roses to remember what waited for me at home. The cold of my dread and worry erased the warmth of the man’s touch until only a pleasant, fading memory remained.

Chapter Two

When I returned home long after midnight, a bouquet of blue roses waited on my doorstep. Beside them was a golden hourglass, and all of its sand had settled to the bottom. Once again, I had to choose whether to step over them or take them into my apartment with me. Sighing, I unlocked my door, picked them up, and deposited them on the table along with the black roses and the urn.